I Bought My Late Mom’s House So My Sister Couldn’t Tear It down — Then I Found Her Real Will Hidden Inside

Mom’s signature looked exactly as I remembered it from birthday cards, permission slips, and her handwritten notes to me. It was her looping script, precise and unmistakably hers. Caitlin’s version wasn’t just wrong.

It was fake. My vision blurred. I held the letter up toward the window like the light might help me make sense of it.

The paper shook in my hands. My stomach churned with betrayal, but also something older, something like rage. I called Mr.

Benson, Mom’s lawyer, within the hour. “Hi, it’s Anna. Marlene’s daughter,” I said.

“I found Mom’s real will. Caitlin gave me a forgery… and… I need your help.”

“Anna,” Mr. Benson said after a moment.

“Are you certain that you’ve gotten the real version?”

“I found it under a floorboard in Mom’s bedroom,” I said. “It’s in her handwriting, too. And the signature is real.

It’s notarized, Mr. Benson. Caitlin’s version doesn’t even come close.”

“You need to be careful, Anna,” he said quietly.

“This isn’t just about property anymore. If Caitlin did forge legal documents… intentionally, then she may go to great lengths to protect what she thinks is hers.”

I knew then that I needed to confront her, but on my own terms. The next evening, I called and invited her over.

“Just to talk, Sis,” I said. “About the renovations. I have some ideas, but I want to run them by you.

It was our home…”

“I’ll be there, Anna,” she said. “But make something good to eat, okay?”

She showed up 30 minutes late in oversized sunglasses and that old denim jacket she used to steal from Mom’s closet in high school. Her heels clicked across the hardwood like punctuation marks.

“Wow,” she said, glancing around. “You really went full Fixer Upper on the place, huh?”

“It’s still early, Cait,” I replied. “I’m trying to keep it close to how Mom left it.

Just… safer. The old floorboards were a hazard.”

My sister rolled her eyes, dropping her purse on the nearest chair. “Of course you are, Anna.”

We sat at the dining table.

I poured us both tea, Earl Grey, Mom’s favorite, and placed the documents in front of her. “What’s this?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You tell me, Caitlin.

The truth.”

She lifted the top page, probably expecting a receipt for cabinet handles. But as she flipped to the next sheet, her mouth flattened. Her hands stopped moving.

And her jaw twitched. Her eyes flicked up to mine. “You wentContinue reading…